A Final Word
by Warrior717
Summary: He didn't die a hero's death, but he sure lived a hero's life. – In memory of Anton Yelchin (All chapters now available in audiobook, plus a *bonus* scene! :))
1. Chapter 1

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* * *

 **A Final Word**

~Chapter 1~

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"Ow! Would you stop _doing_ that?" Jim said irritably, rubbing at his sore neck in what was undoubtedly becoming an all too common occurrence. He and Spock had been no more than fifteen minutes into their chess game when McCoy had barged into his quarters, courtesy of his medical code, and administered a hypo loaded with a routine vitamin supplement.

"You give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you back to medbay right now." McCoy said indignantly.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Jim snapped.

"You missed your physical again."

"Your point?" Jim pressed, still sulking.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "We've been over this, Jim. It's mandatory."

"Bones, that's highly overrated."

"Not to mention," McCoy went on, "You've been exhausted since our last mission and it's about time you got some shut-eye."

"Can't you see that Spock and I are in the middle of a game?" Jim asked incredulously. He knew he was in denial, knew that he was doing everything he could to avoid sleep, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. Especially Bones.

"Captain," Spock intervened, "Perhaps it would be more prudent to continue the game at a later time."

"No, Spock. That's not necessary."

"He's right, Jim."

"No." Jim said flat-out. "He's staying. You're welcome to stay, Bones. If you drop the hypo."

"I'm not going to tell you again, Jim." McCoy said sternly. "Last chance. Go get some sleep."

"I'm fine without it."

McCoy breathed a sigh of frustration, "Then you've left me with no choice." He pulled out another hypo that Jim swore came out of nowhere, and he took a step closer.

"Oh no you don't." Jim scooted backwards, nearly hitting the chess set on the table in the process, and looked to Spock for backup. Spock remained neutral from where he sat, but would later go on to say that the commotion was "quite unnecessary, considering the fact that the doctor's treatment was well merited."

"Jim…" McCoy began warningly, but Jim wasn't having any of it. He side stepped instead, this time managing to knock the chess set off the table. The pieces went scattering across the floor, and he had to keep himself in check in order to avoid losing his balance altogether.

"You know," McCoy said exasperatedly, "you could make this a lot easier on both of us if you would just cooperate for _once._ "

"Why would I do that?" Jim deflected, smirking slightly when the doctor made another feeble attempt towards him and nearly lost his own balance.

"You're such an infant. No, worse than an infant. At least they _accept_ help when they need it."

"Bones, that's the point. I _don't_ need it."

"And why is that, Jim?" McCoy challenged. "You think it'll help?"

"Maybe." Jim responded, but it was obvious he was deflecting. Unnerved at the sudden change in mood, he planned his next defense, but McCoy beat him to it.

"It won't change anything."

The room fell silent. Whatever Jim was going to say next…he didn't. He wasn't going there. Wasn't even going to _begin_ to go there. Not while it was still so fresh, and certainly not when he couldn't make sense of it.

"Jim," Spock approached delicately, "the doctor is correct. I too have been concerned for your well-being since Mr. Chekov's passing."

Jim felt a flush of embarrassment under their scrutiny, but managed to steel his resolve rather quickly. "Well don't be."

"Jim, we need to talk about this." McCoy reasoned.

"What is there to talk about? He died. End of story."

Yes, it was blunt, insensitive, and Jim felt like a jerk for saying it. But there was some level of truth to it, he reasoned. A truth that prickled at the corners of his eyes, and made each new breath that much harder to swallow. A truth that made it far too real, and sent his mind reeling. A truth that made him numb, because Chekov had been too young... far too young. Why couldn't he accept that?

"I think we all know that doesn't cover it." McCoy said, his voice surprisingly soft. Jim looked away, his throat inexplicably tight around the lump forming there.

In the weeks following the funeral, Jim had been noticeably different, so much so that it raised concerned glances and questions among the other crew members. Where he had once been eager for conversation, he now felt quiet and reserved. Where he often lingered on the recreation deck with Spock and McCoy after his shift, he found himself hurrying to the solitude of his quarters. Before, he would have gladly taken up Sulu's offer to a duel, annoyed Uhura with his silly antics, laughed over a drink with Chekov while the kid exuberantly took on the task of teaching him Russian, because Jim was always up for a challenge, but now….it was different.

While the others grieved in their own time and in their own way, Jim had preferred to not grieve at all. It was easier that way, he reasoned. Easier to avoid the resentment he felt each time he glanced over and half-expected to see their young Russian friend in his seat, only to see his temporary replacement. The new ensign was well capable, of course; Jim would not have approved her otherwise, but it wasn't the same. She would be highly considered among many other eagerly waiting applicants when the time came; when he would be forced to begin looking for a permanent replacement for their once vibrant, _beautifully authentic_ navigator.

By no means did he allow this to affect his duties; In fact, it was quite the opposite. Against McCoy's better judgment, Jim began working overtime; taking on double shifts where he could, and avoiding sleep whenever possible when the solitude eventually wasn't enough. And just when it seemed as though he would catch a break, he would make his way to the gym during off-hours, pushing his body to new limits, always preparing for the next mission.

Jim had just finished showering and dressing after a workout, prepared to ignore yet another insistent call from McCoy to come to medbay for his routine physical, when Spock had shown up to his quarters. Having offered no other reason for his unannounced visit and making it quite clear the subject was not up for debate, his first officer had challenged the captain to a chess game. Little was said in conversation as they played, but Jim had the nagging suspicion that something else was at play here when McCoy soon made his dramatic entrance.

Jim's mind was forced back to the present when he noticed Spock and McCoy eyeing him meaningfully, and he cleared his throat, hoping it would alleviate the lump that had continued to persist each time he swallowed.

"Listen, Jim," McCoy began carefully, "You still need to complete your physical. You're not getting around that. And… under the circumstances, I'm ordering you to have a psychological evaluation."

"Bones, I'm not having a psych eval."

"I'm afraid it's not up for discussion."

Jim heard the familiar beep of a communicator chime in, and Spock dropped his attention from the other two to address the call. Jim was momentarily grateful for the interruption, but he could not take his eyes off the doctor as the other man's gaze remained fixed in his direction.

The tension only lessoned when Spock's voice broke in suddenly. "Captain, I am needed elsewhere for the time being."

"I'll go with you." Jim offered, holding McCoy's gaze for a few more moments before he finally turned and headed for the door.

"You're not going anywhere."

Jim froze momentarily, wondering if he heard right. "What did you say?"

"I thought I made myself quite clear." McCoy reiterated, glancing at Spock with a knowing look that unnerved Jim more than he cared to admit. "You're off duty for the next 48 hours."

"Bones, you can't do that—"

"Oh, yes I can. Go on, Spock."

The Vulcan looked nearly torn for a moment before giving a slight nod and continuing once more on his trajectory. The room fell silent when the doors whooshed shut, and Jim breathed a heavy sigh of frustration. "This is a mistake."

He was met with no response, and he hastily moved to his desk, hands shaking slightly when he picked up a data PADD to file through some paper work. His vision was blurring around the edges due to lack of sleep, but he continued regardless. He scanned to the next page.

"You can't hide behind your work anymore, Jim."

Jim paused, still looking at the screen.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Jim swiped to the next page, but he wasn't really reading the text at all anymore. His throat constricting painfully, he managed to meet his friend's gaze. "Bones, I don't want to talk right now."

"We all miss him, Jim. But it's different with you." McCoy said, his voice carrying something poignant that Jim had rarely heard from him. "That kid looked up to you."

 _Please stop…_

Jim's entire vision blurred now, but for an entirely different reason, and he averted his gaze. "We're not talking about this."

"We have to!" McCoy snapped, and Jim startled visibly.

"It won't accomplish anything."

"Or you just don't want to deal with it. Jim, he deserves more than that."

And that was the final straw. Jim shook his head, giving a laugh that would have sounded incredulous had he not been so tired, and he slammed his fist down on the desk. The action, eliciting the pain he needed, was enough to distract him. Even if it was short-lived.

"Talk to me, Jim." McCoy said quietly, and he patiently waited for his friend to respond.

"There is something I haven't told you," Jim finally admitted, his voice raw with emotion. He reached over, opening the desk drawer to retrieve a brown leather book, which he carefully placed on his desk.

"What's this?" McCoy asked. He stepped closer to get a better view, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity as Jim opened the first page.

The Russian title was the first to be noticed in its stark black text against the light-colored border. The second was the familiar handwriting, and it was painfully evident who had written it when they examined the unique style of its owner. It was obvious who the book was from, but it was even more clear for whom it was meant. For below the title was a dedication in English; one that could not be mistaken for anything else:

To James T. Kirk: The hero of legends

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To be continued….

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 **A/N: Thank you SO much to DakotaBeor for making this** _ **beautiful**_ **cover art for my story! You are so incredibly talented as a graphic design artist and writer! A huge thank you to A Petal on the Rose for her awesome beta work, and to Mijan for answering some questions I had along the way so I could be sure a few things were accurate. :) **

**For those of you reading this, thank you! Anton's death came as a complete shock to everyone, I'm sure, and I'm hoping that this small story will help bring some closure. There are some interesting references I will make from interviews I've seen; Let me know if you catch them. ;)**

 **I would love to produce this story into audiobook someday, much like our collaborative story, "Brothers in Arms." If that is something you would like to see happen, let me know in the review section.**

 **As always, your feedback, thoughts, and comments are appreciated!**

 **~ Warrior717**


	2. Chapter 2

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* * *

 **A Final Word**

~Chapter II~

..

" _There is something I haven't told you," Jim finally admitted, his voice raw with emotion. He reached over, opening the desk drawer to retrieve a brown leather book, which he carefully placed on his desk._

" _What's this?" McCoy asked. He stepped closer to get a better view, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity as Jim opened the first page._

 _The Russian title was the first to be noticed in its stark black text against the light-colored border. The second was the familiar handwriting, and it was painfully evident who had written it when they examined the unique style of its owner. It was obvious who the book was from, but it was even more clear for whom it was meant. For below the title was a dedication in English; one that could not be mistaken for anything else:_

 _To James T. Kirk: The hero of legends_

..

"Jim, this is…." McCoy began, but he was at a loss for words as he pondered over the beautifully authentic handwriting, and more importantly, its significance.

"I know." Jim managed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand wavered slightly to the next page, but he took no initiative to turn it. He seemed to be waiting for something, McCoy realized, or perhaps his friend was trying to make a decision of some kind.

"What is it?" The doctor couldn't help but ask, and the concern in his voice was enough to draw Jim out of his reverie.

Jim cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed from the attention. "It's nothing." He murmured, turning the page now with assertiveness.

McCoy had to admit defeat when he realized he couldn't understand the world of foreign letters, written in Chekov's precise style, but he had the nagging suspicion that he might be the only one. He watched Jim intently as the younger man scanned the text with interest, mouthing the words in a way that didn't quite seem natural. Until it clicked. To McCoy's amusement, Jim wasn't simply observing the text; He was reading it.

"How long have you known Russian?" McCoy asked, genuinely curious. He couldn't recall ever hearing Jim speak it, or show any interest in it for that matter.

Jim, too engrossed in the translation, didn't seem to hear him. McCoy tried again.

"Jim."

"Hmmm?"

"You know Russian?"

"Yeah. You don't?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Um…. no." He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling a little self-conscious. "It's a little too Klingon for me."

Jim's lip twitched in amusement.

"So," McCoy said, moving on rather quickly. He did have a point to get to after all. Before the question could even be verbalized, however, Jim helpfully stepped in.

"I asked Chekov to teach me a while back."

"Oh."

Jim smiled, and the doctor could not have not been more relieved to see a semblance of his friend's old charm beginning to return. "I'll never forget the look on his face when I told him I wanted to learn."

"Something tells me he was eager to do it." McCoy said fondly, because quite frankly, it was all too easy to imagine.

"Yeah…" Jim agreed, his smile gradually fading. McCoy noticed the slight change in his demeanor, and he purposefully turned to the next page, grateful the action seemed to be the distraction they needed.

"So what is this about?" McCoy asked. It didn't appear that Chekov was writing an original novel, that much he could surmise. He couldn't understand the context, but he sure knew an author's name when he saw it. Or maybe _authors_ in this case. As Jim continued to flip through the pages, McCoy noticed that the book wasn't filled with chapters, but rather short stories. For when one story ended, another would begin; each time with a new author.

Jim huffed slightly in amusement. "It's a book of my favorite stories."

McCoy regarded him quietly for a moment, appreciating the sentiment, before another thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait…you mean to say that you've never looked at this before?"

Jim sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I never got past the first page."

There was a brief pause before McCoy nodded, and Jim visibly relaxed when there was no need to clarify.

"He sure was dedicated, wasn't he?" the doctor said almost admiringly. "It must have taken him a while to translate." He could only imagine the kid's motivation for taking on such an enormous task. Perhaps it was a way to inspire Jim to continue his new-found interest in learning Russian.

Jim averted his gaze, and he leaned forward, turning to the next page where the author's name seemed to catch his attention. "Anton Chekhov," he said, sounding slightly amused.

"Favorite author?" McCoy asked curiously.

"One of them. He's kind of known for his plays and short stories."

"I'll take your word for it."

Jim smirked, likely recalling the fact that McCoy did not often express a mutual fascination in authentic literature, at least not to the same extent.

"Did you know?" McCoy asked suddenly as another thought occurred to him. After all, Jim had never once mentioned the book. "That he was translating these stories for you?"

"No." Jim answered solemnly. "I guess he would have told me eventually."

"So, how did you—?" McCoy paused, answering his own question as he recalled the day of the funeral. He had seen Chekov's parents presenting something to Jim after the ceremony at Starfleet Command. Curious, McCoy had made a mental note to ask him about it later. But he'd never gotten the chance because the captain had avoided him at all costs in the weeks following. Suddenly, it all made sense.

"I'm sorry, Jim." McCoy breathed, his throat constricting painfully at the memory. The other man peered up at him with a look he couldn't quite read, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming need to move on. He took the liberty of turning to the next page.

It was blank.

McCoy stared, wondering if he had seen right. He flipped to the previous page and then back to the same one, all the while, Jim was undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion.

"He didn't finish."

McCoy considered the empty pages for a moment, before the implication of Jim's statement settled in. "I'm sure he would have—"

And that was McCoy's first mistake.

"Would have what?" Jim challenged, his eyes mirroring the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. "Would have finished, had he not…"

"That's not what I meant."

A communicator beeped then, and Jim clicked the button to answer. "Kirk, here." He didn't get a chance to hear much on the other end, however, because the doctor decided in that moment to take matters into his own hands. Without any warning, McCoy reached for the communicator and clicked the button, disconnecting the call. Jim, caught off guard, was momentarily speechless.

"What was that?" Jim snapped.

McCoy crossed his arms, still holding the communicator out of Jim's reach. "I told you. No work for the next 48 hours."

"You—" Jim stuttered briefly. "You're insane, you know that? That could've been important."

"Spock will handle it."

At Jim's defiant glare, the doctor carefully elaborated.

"I got everything covered. Apparently _one_ of the crew members hadn't gotten the memo yet."

Jim ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I have good reason." McCoy said heatedly. He was getting frustrated too, and it was getting harder to quell his impatience with the situation. "You're not sleeping. At least now I know why."

Jim redirected his attention to the book on his desk, and it only served to fuel his anger. "Don't you _dare_ hold that over my head."

"Why not? I think it's about time we get to the bottom of this."

Jim crossed his arms, glaring at the doctor. Then, something seemed to occur to him. He snapped his fingers derisively, "This is about that psych eval, isn't it?"

McCoy's eyes narrowed slightly, but his silence was unwittingly daring Jim to bait him further.

"If I didn't know any better, Bones, I'd say you were enjoying these CMO privileges of yours a little too much."

"You would say that." McCoy deflected easily. "Anything to avoid the subject, right Jim?" He held up the communicator to prove his point, and he placed it casually on the desk. Jim looked at the object, eyeing it surreptitiously, before he stepped forward and grabbed it.

"I wouldn't do that." McCoy warned, eyeing his friend meaningfully. The younger man swore, and made a sudden motion to throw the device against the wall, but paused mid-air, lowering his arm to his side when he seemed to think better of it.

"You know, none of this makes a difference, right?" Jim challenged, "When the 48 hours is up, I'll just go back to doing what I was doing before—"

"Go ahead." McCoy dared him. "See where it gets you."

"I was doing just fine before you stepped in."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Because I beg to differ."

"Well that's an opinion, right?"

"He didn't suffer for long, Jim."

Jim froze, and whatever insult he was about to say next seemed to die in this throat. McCoy's own throat felt tight as he recalled the memory of the autopsy report, but he couldn't stop. He knew Jim was fully aware of the events that took place during their shore leave on Earth, when the unexpected tragedy occurred and everything had changed. He knew it involved their friend hiking in the mountainous terrain of the Urals, he knew it involved being trapped in dangerously cold temperatures at the high elevation, despite the warmer season. Jim even knew, as the evidence painfully suggested, about the efforts the kid made for help with his faulty communicator, but he didn't know everything.

"Why are you telling me this?" Jim asked, his voice wavering slightly as he tried to maintain his composure.

"You need to know." The doctor continued quietly, his eyes never leaving Jim's. "He died of severe hypothermia. His body eventually began to lose heat faster than he could produce it. He would have fallen asleep." He paused when he noticed the other man regarding him warily, and he chose his next words carefully. "Without the proper coordinates, there was nothing you or anyone else could have done."

"I could've been there." Jim insisted, his voice thick with emotion, "Bones, I could have been there, so he didn't have to die alone."

McCoy felt his eyes sting and blur suddenly with the implication of his words, and he blinked the tears back. "I know…" he whispered, unwilling to admit the harsh reality that there was little he could say that could give his friend even a moment of respite from his grief.

Chekov's death had been a shock to all, senseless, with no definitive evidence of what caused it, or who to blame. The kid was an expert with hiking, always fascinated with exploring new worlds and new places, but experience had nothing to do with it. Why his communicator had malfunctioned when there was no obvious sign of damage, poor reception, or lack of power was still questionable. When they found that similar occurrences, though rare, had happened only months before, it led them to believe the manufacturer was at fault. The circumstances surrounding the event were unresolved, even now, and the doctor concluded that they may never receive the answers they so desperately needed. But as hard as all this was to learn, there was one detail of the incident that he could never let go, and it pained him to hear Jim voicing it now.

A few minutes passed when neither said a word, and McCoy watched intently as the younger man returned to his desk, once more, picking up the book. He was silent as he flipped through the pages, but the doctor couldn't help but notice Jim's composure gradually slipping away with each new blank page that followed.

"I was thinking," Jim began, his voice somewhat hoarse. "There isn't much left to finish here… just enough for one more story. Maybe I could—" he shook his head, as if the idea was absurd.

"What is it, Jim?" McCoy asked carefully, but even as he spoke, he already knew the answer. He knew what his friend was trying to say, but something in him needed to hear it.

Jim visibly swallowed with difficulty, his blue eyes glistening now with unshed tears that he tried to blink back. "What if I finished it?" his breath hitched in something close to a sob, and he tried to stifle it with his hand as best he could, but to no avail. He tried again, "I could…. finish what he started."

Something like pride welled in McCoy's chest in that moment, and he barely managed his next words. "I think that would be alright, Jim."

Jim nodded, his lip trembling slightly. "Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm tired."

The doctor looked at him sagely, relief and sadness warring within him. "Okay." He stepped closer, gently taking the book from Jim's hands when the captain made no initiative to move, and he paused when he noticed the first tear. Gaze softening, McCoy placed the book down on the desk, and he grasped Jim's shoulder.

"I'm sorry…." Jim murmured, averting his gaze. Another tear rolled down his cheek, and he swiftly wiped at it with the back of his hand. It might have been the exhaustion finally catching up with him that made the sudden onrush of emotions that much harder to suppress, but something in his friend seem to break then, and McCoy would never hold it against him.

"C'mere." The doctor whispered. And before he knew it, he was drawing Jim in, bending slightly so that his head rested against the captain's, as the younger man began to sob. Tomorrow they would begin picking up the pieces, McCoy realized, and Jim would eventually come to terms with the loss, but today was different. Today, they were taking the first step in that direction, and that was more than enough.

..


	3. Chapter 3

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 _"_ _Anton— You were brilliant. You were kind. You were funny as hell, and supremely talented. And you weren't here nearly long enough. Missing you…"_

\- _J.J. Abrams_

 _"_ _Still in shock. Rest in peace, Anton. Your passion and enthusiasm will live on with everyone that had the pleasure of knowing you."_

\- _Justin Lin_

 _"_ _Our dear friend. our comrade. our Anton. one of the most open and intellectually curious people i have ever had the pleasure to know. So enormously talented and generous of heart. wise beyond his years. and gone before his time. all love and strength to his family at this impossible time of grief."_

\- _Zachary Quinto_

 _"_ _Your sudden and unexpected departure has left us all broken hearted. I woke up today feeling absolute gratitude that I had you as a friend and colleague. Your life has been cut short, but I will always tell everyone about you. You were kind, present, old souled, curious, brilliant, funny, humble, honest, and undeniably talented._ _Good bye Anton, it was an honor to have crossed paths with you."_

\- _Zoe Saldana_

 _"_ _Anton was such a beautiful, gentle soul. He sought out new life experience with an unabated passion. He was edgy, incredibly talented and beautifully knowledge. His smile was radiant and mischievous. Truly an old soul in a young man's body. He was a loving son. My heart, thoughts and prayers are with Anton's family. I'm devastated. Godspeed you gorgeous man."_

\- _Karl Urban_

 _"_ _He was beautifully authentic, Anton…He was just spectacularly interested in life in a great way."_

\- _Chris Pine_

 ** _…_**

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 **A/N: There is still one more chapter left of this story that will tie up loose ends and hopefully bring you some closure, so hang in there. :)**

 ****Also, as a reader, I want to give _you_ a chance to say goodbye to Anton. With your permission, I will post your tribute at the end of my final chapter, much like the beautiful quotes from the cast. So, if you would like to be a part of that, you can PM me your note/thoughts. You can choose to include your screen name, or you can remain anonymous. It's completely up to you. :) Until the next post, dear readers. ~**


	4. Chapter 4

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* * *

 **A Final Word**

~Chapter IV~

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"You know, she was one of the top in her class at Starfleet Academy," Jim said casually, trying to make polite conversation as he sat anxiously on the biobed, kicking his feet out from underneath it. At McCoy's slight grunt, Jim realized he had accidently kicked the man's knee in the process. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"You mind telling me who _she_ is?" the doctor responded, raising an eyebrow expectantly and looking slightly annoyed.

"Our new ensign filling in for navigator." Jim supplied helpfully. "Keeley Haylett."

"Uh huh." McCoy answered, returning his attention to the readouts on the screen. The first half of the physical was taking much longer than Jim anticipated, and he was getting antsy.

The doctor looked up at him sharply, his patience clearly fading by the minute. "I need to get a blood sample."

"Okay." Jim said matter-of-factly.

"Which _means_ I need you to sit still. You think you can do that?"

Jim gave a short laugh, as if McCoy was asking him the most obvious thing in the world, until he realized he was being serious. He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

The doctor looked at him warily for a moment and then finally reached for the extractor. He pressed it against the crook of Jim's elbow, finding the vein he needed rather quickly. The younger man watched with curiosity as the blood filled the vial, before McCoy replaced it with a new one. The process took all of two minutes, and then he was finished.

"Lie down," McCoy instructed.

Jim reluctantly obeyed, cringing slightly as he lay with his back on the cold table. Immediately the biobed picked up his vitals, his heart rate resonating in the room with each pulsing beat, and the captain suddenly became very aware of the privacy curtain drawn around them. McCoy kept a watchful eye on the vitals for a moment longer, and then he turned his attention to the next step. He began applying wireless electrodes to Jim's bare chest, and the younger man's pulse inevitably quickened at the slight discomfort

"Relax, Jim."

At McCoy's gentle tone, Jim tried to calm down. He never liked physicals. He avoided them at all costs, or, at least as much as he could get away with. He trusted the doctor with his life, and he knew the routine exams were necessary for his health. But he was a special case, unfortunately, susceptible to severe allergic reactions to the modernized medical treatments and preventatives. Not to mention, physicals were often uncomfortable, a bit intrusive, and they made Jim feel…. vulnerable. For a fearless man willing to go into any battle and risk his life for his crew, it affected his pride on a deep level that he was unwilling to admit to anyone, especially Bones.

"So, have you looked at other applicants?" McCoy asked, addressing their earlier conversation while clearly trying to distract Jim from what he was doing next. He picked up a thin micro device and switched it on before he gingerly placed it on Jim's temple. He twitched involuntarily, and the doctor carefully applied a second transmitter to the other side. It clicked into place easily, and McCoy nodded with satisfaction as the results began looping constant feedback to the monitor.

"Jim?" McCoy tried again, and the other man brought his attention back to the question at hand.

"Yeah, of course I've looked at other applicants."

"And?"

"And… I think she would be a suitable candidate to consider as a permanent replacement."

McCoy eyed him with a knowing look, and something about it made Jim's throat hurt.

"Are you ready for that?" the doctor asked softly.

Jim felt his eyes sting momentarily at the thought, and he answered ruefully, "I'll never be ready."

Silence ensued for a few moments as the doctor seemed to consider this, and Jim averted his gaze, wishing his friend wouldn't look at him so intently. The captain knew what he was thinking, knew that McCoy was obviously worried about him, but there was something else there too. There was an understanding that put Jim at a loss for words, and he didn't feel the need to clarify. Because in the end, it didn't matter how much time had passed, there was one thing that would never change: the new ensign would replace the navigator, but there would be no replacing Chekov.

Eventually, McCoy redirected his attention to the task at hand, and the younger man was momentarily grateful for the distraction. Even if it wasn't ideal.

Jim started slightly as something cold was pressed against his sternum. The device beeped, sending an odd prickling sensation to what he imagined was his heart, and he instinctively held his breath. McCoy placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Breathe, Jim. It'll be over in a few seconds."

Jim tried to breathe normally, but he only managed a gasp. The prickling sensation soon became almost painful, and his back arched slightly off the table. "Bones…"

"…three...two…one, and…done." The doctor said, sounding somewhat relieved. The device beeped promptly, and he removed it hastily as the results came through. "Doing okay, Jim?"

Jim snorted slightly in amusement. "Could be better."

McCoy squeezed the younger man's shoulder in response, and turned his attention back to the readings. At Jim's questioning look, he elaborated. "Looks good." He began removing the electrodes from Jim's chest, one at a time, and eventually moved the micro transmitter as well. "We're almost done."

Jim nodded, but he remained somewhat tense as McCoy gently began probing the area around his abdomen and other parts of his body, searching for anything that might potentially cause concern. Bones had always been an old-fashioned country doctor, relying more on tactile instinct than modernized equipment; it was an exemplary trait that set him apart from others in his profession. He may have a little more to learn about bed-side manner, Jim mused, but his patients trusted him with the utmost respect, and so did Jim.

"Any pain out of the ordinary?" McCoy asked attentively.

"No." Jim replied, relieved when he could answer honestly.

McCoy continued with a couple of minor tests, and soon he was finished. He took a few more minutes to examine the results before he finally seemed to come to a satisfactory conclusion. "You can put these back on." He gestured vaguely to the clothes sitting nearby.

"So am I cleared for duty, Doctor?" Jim asked, his mouth twitching slightly in amusement. He reached for his pants.

McCoy looked at him sternly, but there was mixture of affection there too. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

It was now past the 48 hours, and Jim had finally caught up on the sleep he so desperately needed. But he wasn't exactly out of the woods yet, as he would soon realize.

Jim mumbled a curse when it suddenly dawned on him and he pulled his shirt on, giving it a firm tug over his waist. He pointed sharply at McCoy. "You're talking about the psych eval, aren't you?"

He went for his socks and shoes next, and all the while McCoy was watching him with a look he couldn't quite read.

"What?" Jim demanded. He didn't mean for it to come off as harsh as it sounded, especially because he knew the doctor was only looking out for him. But he was frustrated. Frustrated with everything. Granted, he felt a lot better now that he had gotten some sleep, but he needed to get back to his normal routine. Needed to feel grounded by the weight of duty.

"I think we covered it, don't you?" McCoy asked, catching Jim off guard. The younger man paused, looking at the doctor bemusedly. "Jim, when I issued the evaluation, I had obvious reasons for concern." He sighed, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "And _since_ then…. we've talked."

Jim immediately grasped his meaning, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment at what the doctor was painstakingly trying _not_ to say, and he nodded.

"There are some conditions," the doctor stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jim rolled his eyes, sighing. "Of course."

"You make it to your physicals. _All_ of them, you hear me?"

"Yeah." Jim agreed reluctantly, raking a hand through his hair as the doctor continued.

"No more of this overtime."

"Bones—"

"I need your word on this, Jim."

" _All right_."

McCoy studied him for a moment and then gingerly pressed forward. "And one more thing. You have a drink with me after shift, starting tomorrow."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"Bones, I can start today." Jim insisted. "And since when does having a drink with you become a requirement?"

"Give it one more day, Jim." McCoy said sincerely. "Don't rush this."

The younger man observed him quietly. "That still doesn't answer my other question."

The doctor looked away, and he didn't say anything for a few long moments before he eventually crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. When Jim had begun to wonder if McCoy was going to say anything at all, the older man sighed, meeting his gaze intently. "Maybe I just want my friend back."

 **. .**

It would take Jim days before he could open the book again, and even longer before he could pick up the pen and begin to write the final story. Although it had been his idea from the start, he was finding it more challenging than he thought. Not because he wasn't capable; Jim was a fast learner. He had become fluent in Russian sooner than either he or Chekov had anticipated, and so writing this story would only come naturally to him… under entirely different circumstances.

One day while Jim was working on the translation in a semi-secluded area of the recreation deck, he struggled with a particularly difficult passage. Frustrated, he slammed the book closed. The crew members, scattered along the other tables, suddenly grew quiet, some whispering and others casting curious looks his way; Sulu and Uhura eyed him meaningfully. Jim turned away from their concerned stares and resisted the urge to rush back to his quarters. That would make a scene, and he didn't want any more unnecessary attention brought to himself.

Instead, he reopened the book to take another attempt. He felt a familiar weight on his shoulder, and he didn't have to turn around to know that it was McCoy reassuring him.

"I can't do this," Jim breathed, hating the tremble in his voice as he set the pen down.

McCoy stepped closer, seating himself from across Jim and peering up at him. "Yes, you can."

Jim looked up, and he was surprised to see that there was no ridicule in his friend's gaze. No judgement. No, there was something else, something more. And perhaps it was the fervent way in which McCoy had said the words that drove Jim to continue, or maybe it was the utter faith the doctor had in him, but something changed then. Something Jim couldn't describe, even if he was asked. But it didn't matter anyway, because Jim was turning the page with the pen in hand. And before he knew it, he was writing again.

It would not be long before the crew eventually caught on to the book, and Jim couldn't blame them for it. It was inevitable that Spock would be mildly intrigued when he observed the captain writing frequently in his spare time, only natural for Uhura to glance over her shoulder when her curiosity got the best of her, and it was only fitting that she would call him out on it. What he didn't expect, however, was the small audience that would greet him the next day.

"You could have told me you knew Russian." Uhura said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked around, nonplussed, to see Spock, Scotty, and Sulu standing a short distance away, leaving McCoy not far behind. The doctor was watching him closely, his posture rigid as if ready to intervene at any moment, and Jim couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment.

"Honestly lieutenant, where's the fun in that?" Jim finally conceded.

Uhura pulled out a chair, sitting casually with her arms crossed. All the while, the others hovered close. "Since when?"

"Since I knew it would be a hit with the ladies." Jim said automatically, smirking slightly when she rolled her eyes with mingled affection and annoyance. She looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for a real answer, when he gave a short laugh.

"I've known for a while now."

"Did Chekov teach you?"

"Yeah."

Uhura glanced at the book, and then eyed him meaningfully. "So, are you going to tell us what you're doing?"

Everything seemed to grow quiet, for a moment, as they waited on Jim's response. Finally, he leaned forward, glancing at every member of the group before he returned his attention back to her. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I'll show you."

. . .

* * *

 **~Tribute~**

 _"_ _The news of Anton's passing hit me like a punch in the gut. The pain was immediate, surprising, and left me winded for most of the day. I sat alone in front of my computer screen, staring at news that I refused to believe. It was such an unwarranted accident, the kind of senseless kismet that makes us question our understanding of the spiritual realm. The grief I felt and continue to feel is not a keening sorrow, but rather a wasting listlessness, an ongoing awareness that the world has been scrubbed of some of its sparkle, and irrevocably so."_

\- _A Petal on the Rose_

 _"_ _To Mr. Yelchin,  
I never got to meet you in person, but I wish I had. Over the past few months, you've inspired me in so many ways, whether it be through film or the stories I've heard. Whether you were Pavel Chekov or Charlie Brewster, I laughed, cried, and sympathized with the characters you played. Not a day has gone by where I haven't imagined saving your life in some capacity, but at the same time, I know I can't change the past. At the end of the day, though, what matters most to me is that you were a great actor, and from what I've heard, a great person. I hope wherever you are, you're doing okay, and that you know that, eventually, we'll all be okay. Thank you, for so many memories over the past year of my life. Happy trails."_

\- _Jojo1228_

 _"_ _I am so devastated at the loss of our Anton. Though I never had the chance to know him, I do know that he was a kind, funny, and brilliant person. An incredible actor, and an even more amazing man. We miss you, Anton. Hold a place for me in that starship in the sky. Rest in peace..."_

\- _equine02_

 _"_ _I was saddened to hear that Anton had died on Fathers' Day, especially since he was an only child. I feel that over the course of this year, my faith in God has been shattered over and over and over again, but I hope that Anton's legacy will somehow bring a smile to all of our faces one day."_

\- _Isaiah Flamez_

 _"_ _Media, stories, films and writing can make you feel like you have known a person your whole life. So, although many of us did not know Anton on a personal level, his passing still affected us all in our own unique ways. For Anton life was short, but a reminder to us all that It is important to dream and to aspire, for you never know when your time may come to an end. It is the work and legacy that you leave behind which sticks in the mind of others, so although Anton is no longer with us, his work will continue to be a reminder as to how inspirational you can be, and just what we can all achieve. Anton was a unique and aspiring individual who had many dreams ahead of him, he could make you love or hate a character he played with a flick of his wrist. It truly is a shame that we will never see many of his plans for the future come to light. The song is ended but the melody lingers on… –Irving Berlin"_

\- _DakotaBeor_

 _"_ _Anton was a highly inspirational man. He made me happy and sad in his films, made me laugh and enjoy things. It's sad he left us so soon, hopefully he's enjoying himself in heaven. Live long and prosper!"_

\- _Violet-Rose Aramis_

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading "A Final Word"! I hope you enjoyed it. The entire story is now available in audiobook complete with drama, music, and sound effects. The link to the episodes is provided on my profile. I hope you'll listen!**

 ***I wanted to offer this final tribute to honor Anton, and to give you an opportunity to say goodbye. Just because the story is complete, does not mean it's too late for you to participate if you want to. Simply PM me at any time, and I will make the update. :)**

 **~ Warrior717**


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